


Oneupwomanship

by ureshiiichigo



Category: Leverage
Genre: Bickering, F/F, First Meetings, Gen, butchering of the Spanish language, inaccurate depiction of Barcelona, obscure Picasso references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ureshiiichigo/pseuds/ureshiiichigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A possible first meeting for Tara and Sophie. It goes about as well as can be expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oneupwomanship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parcequelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/gifts).



> This is my first attempt at something approaching case fic (or in this case, heist fic), so it has unfortunately little of girls kissing and quite a lot of bickering and art theft. I hope you enjoy nonetheless. <3

The first time Tara saw her was in Barcelona, handing a business card to Tara's mark in front of a _panadería_ in the Gothic Quarter. She had tanned skin, the kind that would look equally suited to Mediterranean locales as to Hollywood boulevard. Her hair was a rich mahogany, much darker than Tara's not-so-natural blonde, and it shone in the sunlight, strands glowing auburn under the paisley headwrap she wore. But the most arresting thing about her was her smile.

 _So much for being fashionably late_ , Tara thought, before sidling up next to Enrique and saying, "Who is this, _dulcito_? Aren't you going to introduce me to your new friend?"

"Oh, _¡carísima!_ This is Marie Lemaire, she works in art restoration. _¡Que suerte!_ Can you believe it?"

"No," Tara said, and smiled sharply.

Marie held her hand out to shake. "It is a _placer_ , I am sure," and if that was a genuine French accent then Tara was the king of Sweden.

Tara ignored the outstretched hand. " _Encantada_." She turned back to Enrique and batted her lashes. "Now, _amor_ , weren't we going to get some lunch before we visit the _galería_?"

Marie took her dismissal in stride. "I hope to hear from you soon, Monsieur Hernández."

"Of course." Enrique turned back to Tara and kissed her knuckles. "After you, _princesita_."

Only sheer professionalism kept Tara's smile in place. If she had to spend another week listening to his ridiculous pet names, she might abandon the op and strangle Enrique instead.

Once they were seated on the outside patio of an airy cafe, paella and oysters on their way, Tara brought it up again. “So who was this Marie you met? What did she want?”

Enrique took a sip of his Vega Sicilia before brightening. “She works at the Louvre and wanted to offer her services to the team. She was especially interested in the recent donations.”

 _I'll bet._ "Would you mind if I tagged along on your meeting? I'd love to chat with her."

"Por supuesto. We've set up a meeting for tomorrow evening."

Tara flashed a smile, all teeth. "I'll look forward to it."

###

Marie Lemaire didn't turn up in any database searches. She wasn't listed in any of the Louvre's employee records (big surprise) and her name wasn't flagged on any wanted lists.

"Can you do a facial comparison?"

Fiona's voice sounded strained on the other end of the line. "Not without getting my fingerprints all over the server. I'm not getting sent to Guantanamo because you have a _hunch_ , Cole."

"Who said anything about Guantanamo?"

"The log-in prompt for the machines I'm accessing do. _Confidential data. Unauthorized use will result in torture and death._ "

"Don't worry so much. I'd never let you sit and rot in a secret underground prison."

"Oh, just a secret above-ground one?"

Tara smacked a kiss into the mouthpiece. "I'll send you a photo. Can you do your magic?"

"Yeah, yeah," Fiona grumbled. “But if I get caught I’m totally throwing you to the feds.”

###

The Galería was the third floor of a five story building set on a hill, overlooking the city. The highest floor was a rotating restaurant overlooking the bay, where you could order a five course meal and spend the next two hours watching the sun set over the water, cracking your creme brulee overlooking the same view as when you had cracked open your bottle of Vega Sicilia at the beginning of the meal. It was the kind of meal aimed at tourists.

Tara set down her napkin and smiled across the table.

"It's lovely to meet you properly, Marie."

"Likewise." Marie smiled and took a sip of wine. Her teeth were a sharp white against the dark red liquid. "It's refreshing to see that Monsieur Hernández allows you to be involved in his business decisions."

Next to her, Enrique cleared his throat and straightened his cutlery. "Well, I—"

Tara resisted the urge to grind her teeth. "Enrique is a smart man."

"I can see that," Marie purred in her faux French accent.

Enrique opened his mouth, and Tara turned to smile at him. "Actually, I was just curious about meeting you, señora Lemaire."

"And do I stand up to expectation?"

Tara let her eyes rake up and down Marie's face and the exposed column of her throat. "I'll admit to being pleasantly surprised."

Enrique set his napkin on the table. "Excuse me, ladies. I'll return presently."

Tara smiled up at him. "See you soon, _mi amor_."

Across the table, Marie’s eyes narrowed as she watched Enrique’s retreating form. “You two are very… how do I say it? _Dulce_.”

Tara smirked. “Oh yes. We adore each other.”

“Do you? He seemed rather quick to abandon you, just now.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons. Perhaps he wasn’t enjoying your conversational skills as much as he’d hoped.”

"The lobster bisque, señoras." The waiter set two bowls of steaming pink soup in front of her and Marie.

Tara frowned at the two bowls.

"Well, damn," Marie said, in English, in a distinct RP accent.

Tara pushed out of her seat and peered out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The parking lot below showed no sign of the dark grey Cadillac she and Enrique had arrived in. "That son of a bitch," she swore, also in English. Behind her, "Marie" laughed.

"American? How quaint."

"Shut up. If you hadn't distracted me I'd still be on his tail."

"If I hadn't—? If _you_ hadn’t insisted on coming with to our business meeting—”

“Business? Ha!” Tara calculated the probability of getting out of here without getting nailed for the check. She flung a handful of euros at the table and started walking toward the exit.

She was neither surprised nor pleased when Marie followed after her.

“The name’s Sophie, by the way,” she said. “Well, one of them.”

“Great.”

“And I’m assuming your real name isn’t Raquel, either?”

Tara sighed as she clicked down the stairs. She contemplated taking off her high heels but it wasn’t like she could afford to run in plain sight of the men and women still dining.

Marie—or rather, Sophie—kept pace down the stairs, her high heels tapping synchronously with Tara’s. “I could _call_ you Raquel, but it doesn’t really roll off the tongue, now does it?”

“If I tell you, will you shut up?”

“Hmm.” Sophie tapped one finger against her chin. “Perhaps.”

Tara ignored her down the remaining four stories and on the walk out to the curb, where she managed to flag down a taxi after only two attempts.

When Sophie tried to get in next to her, Tara kicked her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Following a client. What are _you_ doing?”

“Going after my… boyfriend!”

“Well, it looks like we’re after the same thing then. You won’t mind if I tag along. Tell you what, I’ll even pay the fare.”

Tara wondered if shoving her out of the cab would get her to shut up. Probably not. She could think of a more pleasant way to keep her quiet… Tara shook the image off and scooted further into the cab.

Sophie followed and closed the door behind her. “Where to?”

After a beat of hesitation, Tara gave the driver the address to the refurbished warehouse where Enrique performed more of his shady dealings. She knew he kept some of the paintings there. Other than his apartment, it was the most likely place for him to have gone while she and Sophie had been eating.

The drive to the warehouse district was mostly silent, to Tara’s relief, though she felt the almost physical touch of Sophie’s gaze during the ride.

Sophie paid the cab driver while Tara scanned the building for anything suspicious. Enrique’s car was parked in a shadowed alcove, but there was another car parked behind his that she didn’t recognize. She crept up to the building and checked the door handle. Locked.

Sophie grinned at her as she walked up to the door and pulled out a set of lock picks.

 _What are you doing?_ Tara mouthed, but Sophie just smirked at her and stepped inside. Tara spent half a second fuming before she slipped in after her.

The warehouse was stacked with wooden crates, several meters tall and twice as wide. Tara watched as Sophie strode up to the nearest one and tugged at the lid. It didn’t budge. Voices floated down the hallway and Tara made a sharp cutting motion with her arm in Sophie’s direction. Her eyes widened, and then she ducked behind the crate she was standing in front of.

“… _protegido_ ,” Enrique’s voice echoed. It took a moment for Tara to parse out the words. “I’m concerned about the security of our new assets.”

A second voice, deeper than Enrique’s, spoke in fluid Spanish with little trace of an accent. “Rest assured, Interpol is doing everything we can to single out dangerous entities. We have a lead on a woman, very dangerous. She’s likely tried to get close to you in the past week.”

Tara froze where she stood. Enrique must have suspected something, gone to outside forces for help—

“Psst!” Sophie’s sharp whisper cut through the space like an arrow, aimed straight at Tara’s chest.

Tara shook herself from her momentary panic and tried to open the door they’d just come in through, but the handle wouldn’t budge. Her eyes widened as the steps came closer.

Sophie motioned for Tara to move sideways, behind one of the stacks of crates that leaned against the far wall. She rose from her hiding place and walked across the concrete floor, her high heels clicking loudly. “ _¿Hola?_ ” she called out.

Behind her new hiding place, Tara held her breath.

Enrique and a man with black, slicked back hair and a dark navy business suit emerged from the corridor.

“Ah, Monsieur Hernández. I was so worried I would not get a chance to discuss our business proposition.”

“What are you doing here? Who gave you the address?”

Sophie smiled at them. “Your _novia_ told me this is where you conduct business. She was dreadfully worried about you.”

“Oh.” Enrique rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that Tara recognized. “Well, I’m in the middle of something—”

“I can wait,” Sophie said. “Please, take your time. I only wished to let you know that my… services are still available.”

Enrique flushed an unattractive orange hue. “I will take that under advisement. Here, let me escort you to your car.”

“Oh, I took a taxi. I can wait outside for you, Monsieur.”

Enrique hesitated.

“It’s fine,” the man in the suit said. He started inspecting his nails.

Enrique unfroze and walked to where Sophie was standing. He looked around the warehouse briefly, and Sophie angled herself so that she blocked his view of Tara. “Thank you.”

The two of them walked to the door, and Enrique pressed a sequence on a keypad next to it—25389.

“That can’t be good for fire safety,” Sophie said.

“But it’s good to prevent theft,” he replied.

Once he was gone, the man in the suit wandered back to the back entry. Once he’d disappeared, Tara entered the code and slipped outside.

Enrique was nowhere to be seen, but Sophie was waiting outside the door. “I think you owe me a drink for that one, Raquel.”

“It’s Tara.”

“Tara? I like it. Simple. To the point. Pretty without being flowery. It fits.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “Enough with the flattery. The man in the suit, who claimed to be from Interpol. Was he one of yours?”

Sophie’s smile widened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have a good evening, Tara. I’ll expect you to make good on that drink.”

Tara frowned as Sophie snapped her fingers and a car pulled up to the curb. The windows were tinted, so Tara couldn’t see the driver. If she could, she imagined he would have had slicked back hair and a dark suit.

It didn’t help Tara’s mood any that it took her twenty minutes to walk to the nearest taxi rank.

###

Tara sent Fiona the snaps her jacket camera had taken during dinner, and waited almost two hours for the return call.

“It’s weird,” Fiona said. “She’s got half a dozen aliases, and most of them are tied to fraud, forgery, and art theft.”

“Give me the list.”

“Katherine Clive, Annie Kroy, Christy Connelly… Wait, one of these says she’s a Duchess of Hanover? Huh, okay. Sophie Devereaux, Laura—”

“Stop. Sophie Devereaux.”

“Yeah, this one’s wanted by Interpol for theft of some Renaissance pieces. Suspected theft of the Second David, whatever that is. Last seen in Florence, Italy, at the Piazza de…della… I hate Italian, have I told you I hate Italian?”

Tara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Thanks, Fiona. That’s all I need for now.”

“Got it. You owe me a spa day.”

“I’ll set it up as soon as I’m back in the States. You’re a godsend.”

“I know,” Fiona said, and the line went dead.

###

The next morning, Tara arrived at the Galería for her morning breakfast with Enrique, only to find the place in chaos.

Three police cars were parked outside, and hasty signs had been put up announcing a temporary closure. News reporters and interns alike milled around the entrance. By the time Tara got through the front doors she was sure she’d have a few bruises from all the random elbows.

“Enrique, _mi cielo_ , what’s happened?”

Enrique turned to her, his face lined with several more wrinkles than normal. “One of the newest pieces was stolen last night! We have no idea how…”

Tara narrowed her eyes. She had a pretty good idea. “Which piece?”

“The portrait of Sabartés!”

Tara hurried after him to the newly opened portrait display.

“We just discovered it this morning, when unloading the latest shipment from the warehouse,” Enrique said. “We had to consult the manifest, to see what was missing.”

The piece sat propped up against the wall, a passable forgery of Guernica, all stark black and white faces and geometric shapes. Of course, Guernica hadn’t been one of the donated pieces.

Tara peered closer. There were small letters stenciled around the outline of the image, jumbled nonsense that looked more like code than language.

“Have you taken a look at these letters?” she asked.

“What letters? I didn’t see any letters…”

“Señor, we are missing another painting listed in the manifest—”

Enrique didn’t even look at Tara before he ran off.

###

It took Tara five minutes and a spare piece of paper to decipher the message in the painting.

_Hope you don't mind that I left without saying goodbye. You'll have to buy me that drink next time I see you. XO Sophie_

Tara smiled and unzipped the piece of luggage sitting beside her in the taxi cab. The cardboard poster tube was still there, nestled between spare clothing and a few paperback books for the plane. 

_Not bad,_ Tara thought, and, _I'm looking forward to that drink._


End file.
